


Delivery for the Dead

by AmiMendal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Letters, Mild Language, Probably ooc, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiMendal/pseuds/AmiMendal
Summary: Hermione copes with her post-war grief by writing to those that perished. A House Elf accidentally mails them, and she feels lost without her most secretive thoughts... but then why don't her letters to Snape get returned as undeliverable?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 50
Kudos: 240
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, yada yada.
> 
> My very first SSHG. Please be kind xD

Hermione had taken to writing letters every day after the initial clean-up of the Battle. They counted the dead, treated the wounded, had mass funerals, and mended the grounds of Hogwarts. But then Hermione had too much time on her hands - time she spent thinking, and thinking was dangerous. As rogue Death Eaters were still on the loose, she left her oblivious parents in Australia to complete her final year of education. Between classes, Prefect duties (McGonagall gave Head Girl to Ginny, which Hermione was secretly grateful for) and homework, Hermione tried to keep her hands busy and mind occupied, but still found herself thinking too much. 

So she wrote. She wrote to every person she knew that died in the battle. Sitting at the library table on a brisk November evening, Hermione started her next note.

_Bellatrix,_

_People say that forgiveness is for the victim to feel free, not for the perpetrator. As a victim at the end of your wand, it is for me to forgive you. It is my job, my choice, my grace to extend forgiveness to you._

_Mahatma Gandhi said “Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong,” which sounds all nice and pretty when printed on a poster with a monochrome flower on it, but it is not a pretty idea. It is not a pretty process._

_I don’t want to forgive you. I don’t think I ever will. The physical and emotional pain you inflicted on me still lingers, as sharp and hurtful as the knife you murdered Dobby with. And I know that you will rest in death without my forgiveness, as you never cared for my opinion anyway. But you do not deserve forgiveness._

_So, no, I do not forgive you. What is the opposite of forgiveness, anyway? Spite? Punishment? Neither of those seem right for what I feel for you, but in the end, out of the two of us, only I can feel anything anymore. You…_

Her quill hovered over the parchment, a single droplet of ink falling onto it as she considered her next words.

_You cannot feel anything anymore. You are dead._

_Forgiving you will not bring me peace. Forgiving you does not lighten the pain or remove the memories. Nothing can do either of those things. But today, I am choosing to forget you. I am not ignoring your existence, nor am I Obliviating myself, but as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing you can do to me anymore. I will not think of you. I will not dream of your knife on my skin, or your wand at my back._

_You are dead. And I’m alive. So… hah._

With a relieved sigh, Hermione sat back in her chair and calmed her racing veins. It was always a thrill to write to someone on the other side of the war, and this time felt better than ever - even if it did end on a rather immature note. She folded up the parchment, slid it into an envelope, and placed it in the Potions textbook before returning the tome to her bag. She stood, stretched her back like a cat - _she really wished she’d brought Crookshanks to Hogwarts rather than leaving him at the Burrow -_ and returned to her dorm. An owl pecked at the window and she let it in, releasing the scroll from its clutches and sitting on her bed to read it. Recognizing Ron’s handwriting, she gave a soft groan. This couldn’t be good.

_Hermione,_

_I really don’t know how to say this. I don’t even want to put it in a letter, but the Aurors have us going on a bit of a trip and I won’t have time to see you before we’re off._

A lead weight dropped in Hermione’s stomach. She knew exactly what this was.

_I’m not sure if a relationship is the best thing for us right now._

And there it was.

_This has nothing to do with us being so far away from each other. I mean, it hasn’t helped but it’s more than that. I need to focus on being an Auror, and you need to focus on finishing Hogwarts. I wish you’d come to the Ministry with us when Kingsley offered immediate positions, but I know you never wanted to be an Auror. You’re so smart, Hermione, and Hogwarts is the best place for you._

_I think I’m getting off track… sorry. I’m just trying to say that we should -_

There was a large ink blot, reminiscent of the one she’d left on Bellatrix’s letter. Hermione recognized it for what it was: hesitation.

_we should break up. I know we’ve always had our problems and we fight a lot, but I really do want to stay friends with you. You and Harry are my best mates and I don’t know if I could ever live without you in my life somehow._

_Please forgive me. I really am sorry._

_Ron_

Shaking her head, Hermione put the letter in her trunk and wandered to the window. She could just make out the small cemetery there: Dumbledore’s white tomb shining even in the overcast, a dabble of rounded headstones for Order members, and a single stone cross for Colin Creevey. Her eyes fell on the lone black marble stone for Severus Snape, the only empty grave. They never recovered a body for burial, just a puddle of blood large enough to conclude he was long dead. Everyone assumed his body was snatched by the other side and used for some nefarious purpose or another. Perhaps they thought he was a true Death Eater and wanted to give him some kind of dark burial, or maybe they suspected him as a spy and used him as a warning to others that tried to turn against their own kind. It had been six months and they were no closer to finding a body than they were on May 2nd, and that’s why Hermione wrote to Professor Snape the most.

She glanced at her trunk that held Ron’s letter and argued with herself before sitting down at her own desk. Summoning the necessities, Hermione began another note.

_Severus Snape,_

_I still don’t know exactly how I should preface my letters. You’re no longer a Professor, nor were you my professor when you died, so that feels wrong. We were not close enough for me to forgo your surname, so simply addressing you as_ Severus _seems too friendly. Once again, I ask for your grace in this ridiculous letter writing hobby I’ve started and forgive me for crossing some invisible line in the category of manners._

_Ron broke up with me. I’m supposed to feel sad, I think, but I’m really relieved. My emotional wellbeing hasn’t exactly been up to par since - well, maybe ever? - but especially not since the war. My mental health has been rocky at best, and a relationship with a man as oblivious as Ronald was not going to help that fact._

_So here I am, 19 years old with one ex-boyfriend, a load of classwork and no idea what I really want to do with my life. Not to mention I miss my parents. Would you mind looking in on them for me? Just from time to time, make sure they’re happy and healthy and all that? It’s still not safe for them to come back and I just… I worry._

_I hope Ron told his parents he was breaking up with me so Mrs. Weasley doesn’t assume I’m some heartbreaking trollop - again. Especially because they have Crookshanks. Maybe I should write Mr. Weasley and ask him to meet in Hogsmeade. Oh look at me, rambling nonsense on a parchment to a dead man. See what I mean about the whole ‘mental health’ thing? I may be a bigger mess than I originally thought._

Hermione cast a tempus spell and noted how late it was getting. With another glance out the window, she couldn’t see any headstones save for Dumbledore’s. That realization made her sadder than she thought was reasonable.

_Would my time be better spent at the Ministry, delivering coffee for the self-important bureaucrats until I claw my way up the ladder, hoping for a chance to finally write a memorable piece of legislature? Or should I consider some other avenue for myself? What kind of life-altering crisis is supposed to help me decide if not for the war that we lost so many lives to?_

_I can hear you in my head, imagining your eyes roll with indignation. “You are just as fool-hardy as ever, Granger. The world does not bow to those who fight in a war simply because you wish them to.” Thanks, by the way, for always deflating my head when I forget the world is bigger than my stupid problems. But, for the record, I think career decisions are some of the biggest decisions we can make. Where would your life have gone if you didn’t become a Potions Master? Or the best Potioneer Hogwarts had ever seen?_

_Well, you’d probably still be dead. Or in Azkaban. But that’s beside the point. And now my hand is cramping so I should stop._

_Kindest regards,_

_Hermione Granger_

She tapped her wand to it, charming it to a neat fold and into an envelope much like Bellatrix’s and stuffed both of them into her desk.

  
  
  


The school year passed much like that for Hermione; she wrote a letter to each of the dead, but for some reason, she found solace in writing to Severus Snape. And on the last day of the school year, as Hermione was collecting her items and depositing them into her trunk, she noticed the missing stack of envelopes from her desk. She pulled each drawer out from its track, lifted them over her bed and tossed items to the floor in search of her most desperate thoughts.

With each upturned drawer, a cold sweat started to form on her arms and back. Her breath came out in fast puffs and she recognized the combination of nausea and hyperventilation. Sliding down the wall of her dorm, she tried to calm herself with slow, deep breaths. This was not the time to lose her mind, she had a train to catch, a family to repair, a life to live.

After collecting herself, she noticed that time was running out. She’d never make it down all those stairs, through the grounds, and to the station before the train left if she didn’t pull herself together already! She tossed everything into her trunk just as a House Elf _crack_ ed into her dorm.

“Oh, hullo Miss. You’s is gonna miss the trains soon.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said desperately, “but please, have you been in my room before? DId you see a stack of envelopes in the desk?” The Elf nodded its head, ears flopping enthusiastically. “Okay, and where are those letters now?”

“Jazzy posted them for yous, Miss.”

Hermione deadpanned, her mouth agape. “You… you posted them?” Another excited nod. “Oh no, Jazzy, no…”

“I is sorry, Miss. What did Jazzy do badly?”

“Those were my personal thoughts! Not to be shared with anyone!” Hermione crumpled to the floor, sharp tears flooding her vision. “Oh god…”

The Elf understood and pulled on its ears, “Jazzy is sorry, Miss! Jazzy thought it was a job to do!”

Shaking her head, Hermione continued to cry, but responded with a shaky breath, “It’s okay… It’s okay. You were just doing a job.” She hiccoughed through her tears, wiping at her face. “I forgive you.” _Sniffle_.

“Jazzy is sorry,” the elf whispered, backing away from the tear-stained witch. “So sorry, Miss.”

When she was alone and calmed down again, Hermione hugged her knees to her chest. “At least dead people don’t get deliveries.”

  
  
  


Over the coming weeks, Hermione received dozens of returned letters. _Undeliverable_ , said the owls’ glaring eyes.

Stuffing each envelope into a maple box for safekeeping, Hermione cherished each returned letter as if a piece of herself had come home... 

It was a full month before she realized her most prized letters to Severus Snape had not returned to her.


	2. Writing

18 July, 1999

Her apprenticeship with Filius Flitwick would begin in two days and the nerves were getting to her. She knew he would be patient and kind as he always had been. She also knew she was a quick study and would be comfortable as his apprentice. The feeling she couldn’t shake leaned more heavily on how she would be incorporated into the classrooms. Her apprenticeship would last through the summer and the entire school year as part of an accelerated course of study, granted through the improving Ministry of Magic to acquire more professionals, who would then help boost the economy.

She was thankful the Weasleys allowed her to stay in Ginny’s room, but she was anxious to be out from under their roof and their ever-present hospitality. They were still heavy in the grieving process, and it felt like a private series of moments she continually snuck into.

They’d thrown her a small going-away party, including an even smaller array of gifts, which Hermione appreciated with a full heart. She tucked away each gift with care and sat on the trunk she’d used for her entire academic career. A glance at the tiny desk enticed her to continue her strange hobby.

_ Severus Snape, _

_ It’s been too long since my letters disappeared into some unknown void. I wish I had them back. Knowing they’re out there in the world for anyone to read fills me with a bit of unease. Okay, more than a bit. A lorry-load amount of unease. I poured quite a bit of heart into those letters and even though they were technically addressed to you, they were  _ my  _ heart,  _ my  _ soul,  _ my  _ secrets. The completely illogical side of me wants to find the owl that delivered them and trace it to wherever my words find home now. I do realize this is impossible, but I simply cannot understand where they may have gone. _

_ Tomorrow, I leave the Burrow and return to Hogwarts as an apprentice. Filius, as he insists I call him, will greet me at the gates and deliver me to my own rooms. I had my own dorm in my last year at Hogwarts because I was the only one of my gender and class who chose to return, but having my own set of rooms seems...different. It’s an entirely new idea to me and I can’t help but wonder if and how my life will change because of it. _

_ Is that ridiculous? Yes, I’m sure you would think so.  _

_ Filius is also going to help me restore my parents’ memory. He finds the entire thing utterly interesting and nearly begged me to allow him to stick his nose in that very private aspect of my life. I know he means well, but my parents have never been entirely interested in the magical world, and bringing a half-Goblin across the world to aid in their mental recovery seems like an overstep. I only worry for my parents’ health and wellbeing, and obliviating them was a dangerous choice I had to make on their behalf. It was unfair of me. I never even considered telling them about it all: the war, I mean. It was too dangerous for them to know, both for them and for myself. I know I did what I had to do to ensure their safety, but if their memories can’t be restored… what will I be left with? _

_ I wish I found myself as tired as Ginny, who is currently snoring in the makeshift cot across from me. I’m too nervous to sleep, but once again, I find I have written an essay to you and my hand is cramping. _

_ The idea of sending this off with an owl has tickled my mind, but I think I shall cherish this one letter to you. I like seeing your name written in my own script rather than the  _ Daily Prophet _ ’s garish print. _

_ Kindest regards, _

_ Hermione Granger _

* * *

21 July, 1999.

  
  


_ Severus Snape, _

_ My rooms are large and beautiful and entirely my own. Just a few portraits down from Filius’ without being completely out of the way like Gryffindor Tower. I think the Founders kept the common rooms so far from everything to keep the students trim, and not for the secrecy everyone assumes. Helga Hufflepuff brought the House Elves to Hogwarts, didn’t she? So she knew how amazing their cooking was. And how delectably dangerous... _

_ As an apprentice, I have full access to the Restricted Section! I’m sure you know this, or knew this (should I refer to you in past tense? I think I prefer the present; feels like you’re actually reading it that way), but I had never even considered the idea until Filius brought it up. I also didn’t realize how difficult it would be to get a proper tour from him. My legs are quite a bit longer than his I’m afraid, and I didn’t want to be rude. I’ll have to be more considerate of the height difference as his apprentice, since we will surely spend evenings patrolling the corridors and such. _

_ I brought Crookshanks with me and he’s already made himself at home again. It’s like he never forgot the castle at all - quite like me, I suppose. Though we are still working on repairs, it’s starting to look more like the castle I remember. That’s what most of my summer apprenticeship will revolve around: mending the castle and grounds. The Quidditch Pitch is absolutely last on my list, but I’m secretly hoping someone else fixes it first. _

_ Have you checked in on my parents yet? I know it would be a chore for you, but if you could just take a small peek to ensure their happiness, that would be enough for me. I miss them more with each passing day. _

_ I even miss you, Severus Snape. Part of me wants to figure out if your robes naturally billowed or if it was a charm. Does Filius know? If he does, did you swear him to secrecy? That seems like something you would do. _

_ I’ve decided to send my letters with an owl. Wherever they’re going, they are doing more good out there than in my desk drawer. I don’t re-read what I’ve written; it’s like a purge. I write what I write and it’s not my problem anymore. If some stranger is getting them because the owl delivers to the poor mistaken sod, then let me take a moment to apologize to them. _

_ Sorry, stranger. Feel free to  _ Incendio  _ the lot.  _

_ How do owls deliver letters anyway? Can they read? That sounds like a ridiculous question, but if my letters  _ are  _ being delivered to someone, is it because my cursive R’s look too close to E’s, and my E’s too close to I’s? Perhaps they believe my letters are addressed to Sivieus. Quite a name, but entirely plausible in the wizarding world. I’d never heard of a Severus before, so surely a name like Sivieus is out there somewhere. _

_ I have a busy week ahead of me, so I will attempt to get some sleep. If that fails, hot tea, biscuits, and a book will certainly occupy my time. _

_ Kindest regards, _

_ Hermione Granger _

* * *

  
  
  


3 August 1999.

_ Severus Snape, _

_ The castle is really coming along. Don’t misunderstand, it’s still a disaster, but the main areas are looking much better and the dangerous areas will be blocked off from wandering students when September arrives. Filius has taught me so much already, far surpassing NEWT level instruction and delved into the actual relativity behind magic. It’s so fascinating and I’ve got quite a collection of books on the physics of magic, as well as two latin dictionaries. He wants me to create five charms before the winter holidays and I find myself both excited and nervous. You always said I was good for reciting texts but lacked the creativity to create my own things. I think you were right in some form, but you also taught me that Potions is its own kind of art. And I’m terrible at art. I’ve included a sketch of Crookshanks just to prove my point. Please burn it as soon as you finish laughing, as it’s quite embarrassing. _

_ Ginny is at a Holyhead Harpies audition as I write this letter. I know she’s an excellent flyer but I worry she’ll get her hopes up and not get the position. Would she be an Auror then, like Harry and Ron? I worry too much for them already, I don’t need another friend to fret over. Auror business is dangerous enough without hunting Death Eaters, and that’s exactly what the Ministry has them doing. _

_ Oh Severus. May I call you Severus? I’ve been writing to you for over a year now, I think it’s time. Severus, how on earth did you survive two wars worrying over your friends? _

_ Actually, I guess you didn’t technically survive two of them, but you know what I mean, right? I know you weren’t known for being friendly but you did have friends, didn’t you? Even if it was… Lucius. _

_ I still find myself hoping you’ll stalk through the dungeons with that stoic expression of yours, cloak waving like a flag at sea, your distinct nose high in the air as if we are all beneath you. I think, in some way, we were all beneath you. No one could have done what you did for the Light. Your particular strengths and circumstances put you exactly in the position that was needed for the war effort. The occlumency, the potions expertise, the emotional distance from others - they all made you the perfect spy. _

_ And still, we couldn’t save you. Would it have been too much to ask, to have the one truly heroic person live through two wars? I wish I could have saved you. I wish I  _ did  _ save you. _

_ Besides my parents, you will be the one life I’ll grieve most. _

_ Before I get too sappy, I’ll bid you a good day. _

_ Kindest regards, _

_ Hermione Granger _

* * *

  
  


1 September 1999.

It had been a long day, but the students returned and gave her a respectful amount of applause before the feast. Headmistress McGonagall had made a point to rework the greetings of all students. Madam Hooch greeted the First Years as a neutral face, and Slytherin was not the last option when introducing the Houses. McGonagall still acted as Head of Gryffindor, but she was eager for either Hermione or Neville to complete their apprenticeships so she could offer it to one of them. Hermione hoped it was offered to Neville first, as she didn’t know if the added responsibility interested her as much as writing to Charms journals and being published did.

Standing in the owlery, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder where her letters to Severus were going. Perhaps she really should be more careful with her cursive, though the idea of someone named Sivieus receiving all of her letters did make her giggle. She looked out onto the grounds and admired the lush, Scottish greenery before making a mental note to visit the cemetery. She couldn’t see it from her window anymore - her rooms were halfway around the castle from Gryffindor Tower.

The stars glimmered from the dark blanket above and Hermione almost felt like she was home again.

Almost.


	3. is the

As her apprenticeship continued, Hermione kept the promise to herself and never stopped writing letters. She cried - _sobbed_ for hours - when she finally wrote to her parents in October. That letter hurt so much that she considered burning it just so the words didn’t exist anymore, but decided to keep her wits about her and tucked it into her trunk - far away from any nosey House Elves that thought they knew which mail to send. It would do no good to Monica and Wendell Wilkins to get such a strange note in their mailbox.

It was a cold November day when she got a letter from the Ministry.

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger,_

_We hope this letter finds you and your family in good health and social standing. It is with great pride that the Ministry of Magic invites you to the first annual Ceremony of Honors to Acknowledge and Reward Magical Initiative with Notable Gratuities._

She paused to roll her eyes at the acronym before continuing:

_Your presence has been requested on 31 December 1999 at 8 p.m. This black-tie affair will honor all war heroes that fought and/or died in the “Battle of Hogwarts” on and before 2 May 1998._

_Please R.S.V.P. to Beatrice Portley by the close of business day on 1 December._

_Respectfully,_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Personal Relations Department_

Hermione couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped her, but it was the heavy stone that settled in her gut that forced her to busy her hands with the tea kettle. 

“I’m not going,” she said to Minerva later that week. “They can’t make me and I refuse their invitation.”

The Headmistress patted her hand in consolation, “Now now, Hermione. Don’t be so quick to dismiss it.”

“Why shouldn’t I? They dismissed our claims - Harry’s and Professor Dumbledore’s - about V-Voldemort returning for years! And even when they accepted it, it was too late. How many died because they didn’t act? How many died _after_ they acted because it was tainted by _his_ followers?”

Minerva gave a sad sigh, “Yes dear, I was there for all of that as well, you’ll remember?” Hermione offered a sheepish smile. “I want you to think of it in a different way: go to the gala or ball or whatever it is they’re labeling it. Maybe they’ll ask you to make a speech. Maybe you’ll make connections. I know you have dozens of projects going on in your mind at any given time; what can this situation do for _you_?”

The Apprentice pursed her lips in consideration; could she turn this invitation into her own P.R. tool?

Setting her tea cup down, Hermione groaned and laid her head on the table. “Fine. You win. I’ll go.” She missed the triumphant grin from the Headmistress but felt another reassuring pat on her hand.

“There there, love. It’ll be fine.”

\----

_Dear Severus,_

_This bloody CHARMING event is going to be a nightmare. Black tie? Really? I haven’t dressed up since the Yule Ball and it was the biggest hassle I ever underwent - except the whole_ Fighting-For-The-Wizarding-World _thing. You know, nothing to shake a stick at._

_The anger and contempt I hold for the Ministry as a whole continues to burn a hole in my heart. I don’t want this anger. I don’t want to despise a group of people - or the abstract idea of a group of people - because of the ruinous actions taken during those few years prior to… well, you know._

_Nevertheless, Minerva has convinced me to attend. She’s not nearly as manipulative or devious as Albus was, but she certainly knows how to butt her nose into something that doesn’t concern her. She wants me to make connections and use the entire event as my own personal device in terms of… Well, I’m not sure exactly. She’s entirely under the illusion that I have projects and charities under my thumb, as if I have all the time and resources in the world to put into things like S.P.E.W. (which I still wholeheartedly support, by the way, if you were wondering. Consider the parallel between them and my own familial background. It’s not such a far-fetched idea when you consider the racial injustices done to people of color through slavery)._

_I really can’t tell you how badly I don’t want to attend, Severus. Why is the Ministry spending thousands (if not tens of thousands) of galleons on a black-tie affair? To parade around the tortured and abused people that survived? To pin gold stars and shake hands with the Order, especially after putting a price on all of our heads? I see right through this, Severus, and I don’t want to be a part of it. I don’t want their accolades: I don’t want their medals or their praise. Shocking to you, I’m sure, as I would’ve done anything to receive praise from you as a student. But now...I just want the citizens to be upstanding. I want the government to get sorted out and the people to hold their government accountable for everything that happened._

_Oh Severus… I wish you were here to tell me how completely self-absorbed I’m being. Or how dead-right I am._

_Poor choice of words, sorry._

_Kindly,_

_Hermione Granger_

_P.S. If there really is a Sivieus, and you really are getting these letters… I bid you health and wellness until my next letter. And thanks for being so understanding._

\---------

30 November 1999

With good results on her fourth original charm, Hermione allowed herself to relax in the Restricted Section late into the evening. Madam Pince couldn’t kick her out as an Apprentice, though she did tend to glare a bit harder if she was forced to leave Hermione on her own. 

“Honestly. She acts like I’m going to set fire to the lot,” Hermione said to the empty row. “I have never given any indication that I would treat a book with anything less than the utmost respect.”

With a quick glance to ensure privacy, Hermione laid her robe out on the floor before treating it as a picnic blanket and resting on it herself. Writing letters was how she purged all of her thoughts and emotions, but this was how she recentered herself. It was the closest thing she came to a meditation: surrounded by books that held some of the oldest secrets of magic, Hermione closed her eyes and listened to her breathing. If she let go properly, she could imagine little sparks of magic running through her veins. Any disturbance, such as a hair tickling her nose or an itch on her ankle, and her mind threw itself into the Shrieking Shack and witnessing the slow death of her beloved Potions professor. Hermione was startled out of her trance and forced herself to count the books in front of her until the imaginary sparks in her blood calmed enough to walk herself to her rooms.

_Severus,_

_I wish I could go back to my fifth year and fix what I know is going to go so wrong. I’m sure you have similar feelings but since you’re not here to discuss it, I will just say my piece._

_I couldn’t see thestrals then. The textbooks don’t do them justice, as they truly are amazing creatures, but they’re absolutely terrifying. And the reason behind my ability to see them now is often too much to bear. I could save Sirius and Albus, Colin, Fred, Remus and Tonks, even Lavender…_

_But I could also save you._

_That thought is what keeps me up so late. And even without you here to erate me, I know that time travel is limited to a strict number of hours and an even stricter timeframe and_ the strictest _control by the Ministry._

_But… I can dream. I can pretend. I can imagine it, late at night, safe in my bed: a world where you and so many others that fought for our freedom and right to live could do just that themselves._

_I’m not asking for world domination or anything._

_Oh come on, that was funny!_

_Alright, maybe not. But I swear I’m getting wittier. It must come with age, as Minerva is the wittiest person I know. She says you were even more so, but I’ll just have to take her word for it._

_Kindly,_

_Hermione Granger_

_P.S. To Sivieus - I hope you and your loved ones are well!_

\-----------

19 December 1999

“Come on, it can’t be that bad!” Ginny shouted from the waiting area. 

“It truly is, Ginny. I’m not coming out. Just throw the next one in,” Hermione said from the confines of the fitting room. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“Wha-? I would nev-! Oh fine, how did you know?”

Hermione chuckled, “Some things are hereditary, I’m afraid.”

“Can’t I just see it? Please?”

“Absolutely not. The color is dreadful and the slit goes up entirely too high. How did you even convince me to try this on?”

“The color can be charmed, Hermione, and I’m sure the slit is fine; you’re just a prude. _Don’t!_ ” she exclaimed, cutting her friend off before she could get a full word in, “I know for a fact you’re still a… and you’ve barely even… We’re getting off topic. Let me see it,” Ginny insisted.

A few choice words fell from Hermione’s tight lips before she stumbled out of the fitting room, resigned to the insistent redhead. “Great, you’ve seen it. Are we done now?”

Ginny’s eyes lit up, “Oh, Hermione… Please, you have to wear this one!” Her pale hands grasped Hermione’s and forced her to twirl, “Oh Merlin, and the flare on the bottom! Yes. This is it.”

“Stop it, look at this color,” her hands splayed across her stomach as if to showcase the mustard yellow, “And this slit!” She covered the upper thigh that dared to peek out, “It’s entirely too risqué.”

Ginny threw her head back and scoffed loudly. “What was the point in surviving the war if you aren’t going to _live,_ Hermione? We’ll change the color. And _I guess_ we could have the slit altered a little so it’s not quite so uncomfortable for your very ladylike persona. But the rest is absolutely to die for.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Why are you like this?” she asked rhetorically.

“You know you love me!” Ginny’s fingers went to the price tag and her lips pulled to the side. That was definitely Ginny’s _well, shucks_ face.

“See? All of your prodding and annoyance was for nothing.”

“Don’t even try it, missy. I’m not a Weasley for nothing - it’s called _haggling._ Now get your robes back on and I’ll get my own magic going.”

Hermione’s eyebrows pulled together before she whispered, “You’re not going to Imperius her, are you?” Ginny snorted loudly.

“You have so little faith in me? That hurts, you know.” 

\--------

_Dear Severus,_

_I saw the perfect book for you today. I realize how ridiculous that sounds, as the image I have of you in my head could be absolutely nothing like the real you, but again, I like to imagine._

_I stopped buying books and planners for my friends a long time ago. They don’t appreciate the time, resources, and effort that goes into books at all. Even raised by muggles, Harry barely skimmed_ Quidditch Through the Ages _and I just don’t feel the need to put forth the effort anymore._

_Now, I buy books for myself and those I know that truly appreciate them. Minerva has tasked me with going through your old books that got left behind and it physically hurts me to see your writing in the margins. Not because you wrote in the margins and thus deface the books (I love writing in the margins of fiction to find the subtle nuances within symbols and themes) but because seeing your handwriting makes me feel both closer and farther away from you._

_I burned all of my old essays before sending my parents off to Australia in 1997, so these books are all the evidence of your handwriting that I have. Even your old_ Advanced Potions _book is gone, thanks to Crabbe’s Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. How many potions did we learn from your own work rather than the text? How many potions did you improve upon and never publish?_

_That must be why Minerva suggested I go through it all. That may sound like an egotistical statement, but Horace isn’t doing well these days. He gets tired much more easily than before and he often dozes off during meals, plus his memory seems spotty at best. Just this morning he called me “_ Miss Uhhhhh” _twice, and he greeted Hagrid as if he’d never met him. Imagine forgetting the tallest man you’d ever met! Something is wrong with him, but if Poppy is seeing him, she’s kept a strict Healer-Patient confidentiality. I got off topic, but my point is that not many people are so readily available to sort out your personal belongings and I am honored to be chosen._

_Heh, now I'm the Chosen One._

_That one was definitely funny, you have to give me that!_

_How do my letters to you always become such essays? Why is it that I can spend so much time and energy on a letter to a man that the entire world considers dead, when I can barely carry a coherent conversation with one of my best friends?_

_Kindly,_

_Hermione Granger_

_P.S. To Sivieus… Best wishes._


	4. Only

31 December 1999

Hermione was pulled through the entrance. She was pulled to a table, pulled up the stairs and onto the stage; she was pulled around the entire event like a ragdoll, shown off to the right people and spotlighted as the brains behind The Defeating Three. It was far better than _The Golden Trio_ but it was a complete snub to the dozens of other people that fought for the cause.

Minerva was so sure Hermione could connect with people and get sources for something, but Hermione just felt like a trophy to be passed around. Even as the countdown closed and couples paired off for their New Year’s kiss, Hermione threw the last of her drink down her throat and made an escape, her heart panging with loss.

_Dear Severus,_

_I’m embarrassed to say I had four drinks at the CHARMING event, so I apologize if my handwriting is a bit sloppier than usual. Minerva was wrong -_ **_so_ ** _wrong - to push me into that ridiculous affair. If I met anyone interesting or important, I don’t remember them. I can’t blame the alcohol for that one, just the quick pace of the evening keeping me from remembering a single face. It was a waste of time and money - the dress alone was more than I was willing to spend, even with Ginny’s expert haggling. I’m not sure if I should reuse the dress or get rid of it and all of the memories attached to it._

_Seeing Ronald was easier than I thought it would be. A bit awkward, sure, but then we were all whisked away from each other and I didn’t have a spare moment to consider the matter again. I suppose that’s one thing I can be thankful for - not having the time to worry about how strange it would be after a break-up. Things will smooth out again, right?_

_Some of the attendees were people I hadn’t seen since the Battle. It’s difficult seeing faces that you barely recognize alone, because you know the one you’d usually greet is dead. Why should I greet Mundungus when Remus was always the kind one? How do I acknowledge the original Order members without Albus there to reintroduce us? And why on earth was I constantly looking over my shoulder in hopes of seeing your choleric expression?_

_I’m afraid this letter will be shorter than usual, as the room has begun spinning and I fear I may need to lie down. Whoever kept putting new glasses in my hand is truly evil. I suspect Ginny, but I’ll keep you updated on the progress of my investigation._

_Kindly,_

_Hermione Granger_

_P.S. Sivieus, you could write back if you want to._

\-------

January 2000

The Y2K bug was avoided and all was right with both the muggle and wizarding world. Hermione wondered if her parents were lounging on the warm beaches of Australia, or had they become doomsday preppers and found solace in a bunker? The idea made her smile but she still felt the sharp stab of grief and sadness over their absence from her life. Her apprenticeship was going well and she felt comfortable with the way her relationships with the other professors had blossomed into mutual respect and even friendship. Minerva, struggling to continue the castle repairs on a good timeline and within budget, despaired over how badly Professor Binns needed to be replaced with someone who taught more than just the Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars. Hermione could only nod sympathetically; a living, breathing professor just couldn’t be squeezed into the school’s budget amidst all of the other necessities.

But as the weeks passed, McGonagall seemed more and more agitated. The Headmistress mentioned Harry would be making a trip to the castle soon and Hermione couldn’t understand why that would be a hardship on the Scottish woman.

When the Saturday of his arrival rolled around, Hermione was summoned to her office. Harry’s face was red, though whether it was anger or something else, Hermione didn’t know. Based on the lack of twitch in his chin, it certainly wasn’t embarrassment.

_29 January 2000_

“Hermione,” he said with relief, rushing to embrace her in a hug. “How are you? How’s the apprenticeship?”

She chuckled, “Everything’s fine, Harry, really. How are you? Are they treating you alright in the Auror Department?”

He waved her off with a smile, accidentally meeting the Headmistress’ gaze and finding himself frozen again. He sighed and ushered his friend into a seat, “I’ve been pushing the Board of Governors to put Snape’s portrait up.”

“ _Professor_ Snape, Harry,” she corrected out of habit. “Haven’t they conceded yet? You said months ago it was a sure thing.”

His black hair flopped with a nod, “Yeah, they even commissioned it and everything.”

Hermione’s eyes flitted from her best friend’s to Minerva’s. “I don’t understand. If everything’s gone right, why are you so...”

Harry tapped a section of the wall Hermione hadn’t noticed before and a red cloth fell to the floor, revealing an oil painting of her former Potions professor. He was neither sleeping, nor awake.

“What?” Hermione screeched, erupting from the chair to get a closer look. “What- Why isn’t he moving?”

“We don’t know,” Minerva said with a sad sigh. “Albus took a while to wake, but he was still _moving_ , if only for snores.”

“You’re sure they used the right… I don’t know, paint? How do they even make the paintings move?” Hermione added thoughtfully.

“Don’t go all _Hermione_ on us, Hermione,” Harry teased, though his face still held concern. “According to Kingsley-”

“Minister Shacklebolt,” Hermione corrected.

“According to _Kingsley_ ,” Harry repeated, “He should’ve been moving as soon as the final touches were complete. The artist swears they did everything right and Kingsley was sure to commission someone who wouldn’t hold Snape’s past against him.”

“Are you sure? What if they lied about their stance just to get the job? What if they botched the whole painting because they’re ignorant prats?” Hermione asked, her fingers grazed over the ornate gold frame.

Harry shook his head sadly. “I’m sure. I questioned him myself.”

With a calming breath, Hermione nodded. “Okay, so… what do we do?” She glanced to the Headmistress, hopeful for an answer.

Minerva’s mouth twitched in sadness, “I don’t know, lass.”

“Well… what does it mean? How do we fix it?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” Harry said. “Can you do some research? Find out what makes magical paintings so different? The process, paint, spells, anything that makes them different from muggle paintings. I’ve got a long trip coming up - Ron and I are finishing our training with a handful of other Aurors, looking for some Death Eaters they think are hiding out in Switzerland - so I won’t be able to do anything for a while. I should be back in a month, hopefully with a few bad guys in Azkaban.” Grabbing the cloak where he had draped it on the chair, Harry pulled it over his arms.

Hermione nodded, her bushy hair bouncing in fervor. “I’ll ask Filius, too. He may have some information on the charms. Should I owl you?”

“Probably safer not to. We may be hiding out. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back in London.”

“Okay. Be safe, Harry.”

\-----

_Dear Severus,_

_Your portrait was completed. I am heartbroken that it isn’t working; how I long to hear your sharp tongue make a rude jab at me. Based on Minerva’s expression, she feels much the same. As part of my apprenticeship, Filius has taught me how to extract memories for a pensieve and I’ve taken a good look at the six years you taught me. I wish I’d learned to pay more attention to what you said, rather than how you said it; your wit and humor surprised me. Perhaps that is the saddest part of it all: you weren’t appreciated when you were alive, and now we can only appreciate the memory that you left on us. How sad that so many people will not let their pride best your efforts. You did sacrifice_ so _much._

_Now that I’ve learned that, Filius and I are on a side project. Or, I suppose, a side-side-project. After my daily apprentice work is done, and we’ve discussed future plans about my parents, we’re researching everything there is to know about magical portraits. If Albus has any knowledge on the matter, he’s keeping quite tight-lipped about it. How typical._

_Minerva finally finished packing all of your items from your rooms. As Headmistress, she was the only one with access unless you count the House Elves (and so few do count the House Elves) and she’s placing them in my care until any of us have the heart to go through it all. She’s under the impression that I will know best what to do with your decades of potion work. Did you ever get anything published? If you did, was it under a pseudonym? I suppose I’ll find out eventually. It seems I keep adding more work to my plate..._

_There’s an entire crate of memories, all swirling beautifully like silver sentient smoke in individual phials. I know those will be the last things I touch; those just seem so deeply personal and I can’t ignore the possibility that some of them may contain instances of you participating in Death Eater activities. Do I have the stomach for that? Do I have the steel heart I’m so often accused of having? I doubt it._

_I hope your portrait wakes soon. No, that’s not the right verbiage._

She paused, her quill hovering over the parchment.

_I hope your portrait comes alive, as it is the last hope I have of speaking to you again._

_Sivieus, if you have any ideas, please. Reach out._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for everyone that wanted Severus to show up to the CHARMING event. It just wasn’t meant to be (also I have a plan, I swear! I’m only winging about 50 percent of this LOL)


	5. Device

Having overestimated the amount of information they would find on magical portraits, Filius and Hermione had taken to scouring private journals hoping to resource any industry secrets. Individual artists protected their secrets like a dragon to their nest, proving that Severus’ portrait could have any number of issues the duo would never be able to guess.

Five weeks passed with nothing to show for it; Master and Apprentice both grew desperate at the lack of published information. How were new artists supposed to get a foot in the door? The pitiful amount of information they did have was a simple spell Hermione recognized Dean using for Quidditch posters. 

5 March 2000.

_Dear Severus,_

_I continually put your personal effects on hold as we search for artistry secrets for your portrait and mind magic for my parents. The most I’ve done as of yet is hang your coat up next to mine, as it makes me feel less lonely. I hope you don’t mind. It doesn’t smell like the Potions classroom, nor the Headmistress’s office, so I assume all trace of you having owned it has disappeared. But it does still have a tag at the nape of the neck, reading ‘SS’ in a script I recognize as Madam Malkin’s trademark font. That comforts me._

_I know I did the best job I could for Mum and Dad, but after explaining my methods to Filius last year, he wants to ensure all of our bases are covered. If we have multiple options for treating them, we don’t have to keep harassing ‘Monica and Wendell Wilkins’. Filius thinks we’re close to ensuring my parents’ minds and safety. He estimates our progress to be completed by the end of the school year; I hope he’s right. I’d love to use the summer holidays to find them. It will be cold in Australia, but I still have to find them, too. Calling Australia ‘big’ would be an understatement._

_On the quiet nights, when I fear the nightmares or crushing loneliness, I find myself pulled to Minerva’s office… and your portrait. It saddens me that your face looks so impassive. I’d never seen you look so completely uncaring before; you at least had something negative to say and weren’t afraid to hold your tongue. The silence is like a stab to my heart. I might as well be looking at a photo of my parents for all the moving you’re doing._

Hermione stroked Crookshanks lovingly until he jumped off her lap and padded over to one of Severus’ boxes. He sniffed a corner with his scrunched nose and batted it with a soft paw. “Crooks, no. That’s not mine.”

His large, yellow eyes peered at her with what she could only read as annoyance. “It’s Sev-... Professor Snape’s. No. Severus’. It belongs to-” she stopped herself again and sighed. “Severus. His name is Severus.”

Crookshanks meowed at her, jumped on the top of the box, and curled into a ball to sleep. Hermione shook her head and returned to the parchment.

_My loving familiar seems to insist I’m moving too slow with your boxes. Apparently it has been claimed as a bed. I guess it’s time to start on it all._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Sivieus… Are you there?_

-.-.-

24 March 2000.

Hermione found solace in Severus’ belongings. Every journal contained the most fascinating information on ingredient uses or techniques for improving potions already on the market. The spiky handwriting warmed her, even as the winter clung to every tree and cloud in Scotland. Separating his books, journals, and notes into different piles, Hermione knew what was worth keeping and what could be discarded. Severus didn’t seem to have many trinkets, but the crate of memories sat untouched and waiting for her. 

“Do I have the courage?” she asked herself one Friday night. “Is it even fair to go through such personal belongings? They’re in phials to keep them away from the nosey eyes of Vol-Voldemort. And, I suppose, Dumbledore too.”

Crookshanks purred from her bed, watching. If his tail was anything to go by, he wanted her to open the crate post haste.

“I don’t even own a pensieve, Crooks. It has to wait,” she said to the fluffy beast. “Just be patient.”

-.-.-

11 April 2000.

“Any progress, Hermione?” Harry asked, motioning Madam Rosmerta for two Butterbeers.

Her large brown eyes misted, “Not even close,” she nearly croaked. “It feels like the best portrait secrets are locked up in Gringotts or something!”

“Want to break in and check?” he offered with a grin. When she glared at him, Harry furrowed his eyebrows with concern, “Wait, you’re serious? You’ve found nothing - at all? I half-expected you to have three feet of parchment on it or… or a stack of books or - something.”

She buried her face in her hands, “I’m sorry, Harry. I’ve tried- We’ve tried. Filius and I have been working really hard-”

“I know, Hermione, I know. I’m not mad, I just-” 

Madam Rosmerta dropped two foaming Butterbeers down with a smile. The duo nodded their thanks but kept quiet until she left for the bar again.

“I didn’t mean to pressure you, Hermione. The Aurory has me stretched a bit thin and I,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion clearly evident on his face, “I was just hoping for good news.”

She watched him take a drink of his Butterbeer, but his eyes were often on the move, surveying their surroundings for enemies.

“I’m not sure where to go from here, Harry. Last time I was stuck like this was-” she paused to consider it then lowered her voice to a whisper, “-when we were hunting for Horcruxes.”

His head nodded swiftly in understanding, “Hopefully you find another breakthrough like that. We’ll just have to keep our hopes up. Stay positive.”

She gave a sad smile but nodded as well. If that’s the reassurance he wanted, Hermione would give it to him.

-.-.-

_Dear Severus,_

_I’ve gone through so many of your items, I almost feel close to you. Not that I really know you but I can almost pretend, in a way. Is that pathetic of me? Pretending to befriend my dead, sardonic, scornful ex-professor? Does that show how terribly lonely I’ve been feeling? Is that too many rhetorical questions in one paragraph? I can hear you growling from beyond the veil at all the liberties I’ve taken with our non-existent friendship. I’m afraid I can’t apologize for my desperation at needing some sort of lifeline, and you’re such an easy target considering you can’t turn me down._

_Most of your clothes were donated to the second-hand robe shop in Hogsmeade (though I did keep a few, if you promise not to judge me too harshly). Unless there are Undetectable Extension Charms on your journals, I’ve organized about three-fourths of your paperwork. And you did publish under a pseudonym, Mr. Suave N. Speers! What a name, honestly. I giggled a bit too long at that discovery, and this time, I will apologize… when I see you again. Even if that is decades away and in the afterlife. If you’ll let me._

_Since our research on my parents' condition is nearly complete, Filius has made your portrait and the Hogwarts grounds top priority. I think it's putting undue pressure on him and I worry for his health._

Hermione took a sip of her tea, cooled with lack of attention, and sighed sadly.

_I love being at Hogwarts but I hate everything else about my life. My two best friends are off on even more dangerous adventures, Ginny's playing Quidditch - if you don't count Neville (and I'm sure you wouldn't), I am without a true friend. All of the death and destruction I witnessed is taking its toll on my psyche. I need a friend._

_Don't tell Sybill I said that. She's still a blubbering maniac I have no interest in befriending._

_I ordered a pensieve to view your memories and figure out what to do with them. The labels with acronyms don't tell me anything about any terrifying scenes I may witness. But it must be done. It's due to arrive in three days and I don't know if I'm excited, anxious, or horrified at the job before me._

_Send strength._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Sivieus, I'm losing hope._

30 April 

"Hermione!" squeaked an over-excited Filius, a parchment flapping in his tiny hand as he rushed toward her.

"Sir?" she asked, confusion evident in her face.

He leaned against the stone wall to assist him, chest heaving with exertion. "I've found- someone- an artist! To help!"

Hermione gasped, a dark hand covering her gaping mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. "Really?" she croaked, desperation and a fear of being disappointed. Filius nodded so forcefully, his glasses slipped down his nose. “We must go! Are you prepared?”

With a wave of her wand, Hermione charmed her hair back for traveling. “Yes, sir!” 


	6. for combining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!
> 
> This chapter includes some violence. I think I left it fairly canon-typical, but yeah, just a warning. 
> 
> (Also, apologies for the lack of updates. I bought a house! Moving is exhausting. But I should be good now.)

4 May 2000

_Dear Severus,_

_Filius and I Portkeyed to Cambodia and spoke to world-renowned artist Lim Som. She was able to share quite a bit of information on the art of portraiture while still keeping the necessary secrets of the craft. I’ve learned that an embedded memory is the trick to creating the magic behind animated portraits - and it’s stronger if it’s a memory from the person rather than a memory someone else has of them, but more accurate if you have both. Now that my pensieve has arrived, I no longer have a valid excuse to ignore the phials of memories you left behind, and an even more pressing reason to go through them._

_I wish you’d left a legend so I could decipher all of these acronyms before I jump into something terrifying._

_Actually, I wish you were alive so you could just take them back._

_While I’m making ridiculously childish wishes, I also wish for the castle and grounds to be fixed overnight. And world peace. And maybe a boyfriend. Because why not?_

_Minerva volunteered to share a donated memory for your portrait. She thinks her decade-long relationship familiarity with you offers the most accurate portrayal of your personality. I can’t disagree with her - nor do I have the resources to find anyone else to donate. My biggest hurdle will be looking at the memories from your own collection, let alone choosing one._

_I contacted the Australian Ministry hoping they could begin the process of locating my parents. I should have been more specific when I gave my parents the notion to move to Australia - perhaps a small town so they would be easier to find. Alas, I just have to cross my fingers and hope that they’ve made enough of an impact on their community that they can be located easily. My dad was rather fond of bowling; maybe he joined a local team and they won awards. Maybe I’m being completely naive in my desperation._

Hermione sighed, absentmindedly stroking the fuzzy orange ball in her lap. Her fingers caught on a tangle and she worked away the beginning of a knot. Crookshanks gave an approving purr.

_Maybe I’ll use the weekend to begin wading through the phials. I only hope not to dive right into the worst possible memory and become completely overwhelmed._

  
_Wish me luck._

_Love,_   
_Hermione_

_P.S. Sivieus… or anyone…?_

-*-*-

1 June 2000

Hermione made it a point to watch one memory per night, although she had warned Neville beforehand so he could be ready to console her should it be needed. So far, Hermione was able to keep her wand sheathed and her patronus never bothered the Herbology Apprentice, but she felt good knowing he was there for her.

The dreams tickled her subconscious, altering her sleep patterns and overall making it difficult to feel rested. She was yet to have a true nightmare, but Hermione struggled to feel fully alert as she tutored students for their upcoming exams and perfect her own new charms.

Pulling the silk bonnet over her hair, Hermione took a calming breath before leaning into the swirling memories.

_Severus stood on a dark hill, the crash of waves against rock drowning out his tearful cries. He clambered on the ground with his hands and knees supporting him on the rough terrain, his chest heaving with every sob. Though he had less stress lines on his face, Hermione could clearly see his exhaustion - not just physical, but emotional as well._

_“Please,” he said with a rough croak. “I need- w-water.”_

_Dumbledore’s impassive expression chilled Hermione to the bone. She’d never seen him look so uncaring, so dark. This was not the man that made reassuring gestures to her in the Hospital Wing._ This _was the man that fought Grindelwald._

_“If you are to be my spy, Severus, you will need far more strength than you have now. If you are to lie and cheat Riddle, your mind must perfect Occlumency. You must be impenetrable._ Evade _me, Severus, as you will soon evade your Dark Lord.”_

_Severus wiped his mouth, though the darkness kept Hermione from knowing exactly what it was. Had he been sick? Was it blood? Before she could consider his wellbeing, the Elder wand raised once more. With a contorted grimace, Severus met the Headmaster’s eyes, awaiting the next intrusion._

_The colors swirled into each other before exploding into a new scene. Her brown eyes watched as Severus kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes, his dark hair more oily than she had ever seen it before. Riddle, on the other hand, looked more human than Hermione could ever have imagined him being. His dark hair parted on the side and had a slight wave reminiscent of an old style. Voldemort’s cheeks were sunken in so deeply, Hermione wondered how his bones didn’t cut through the thin skin._

_“My Lord,” Severus greeted with a small voice, pulling Hermione’s attention once more. His long fingers pulled the fabric against his lips fervently._

_“Severus,” Riddle hissed, “What news do you bring from Hogwarts?”_

_Even hunched over on the floor, Hermione could see the new Potions professor’s shoulders twitch. “M-My Lord… Dumbledore, he… He does not trust me enough. I have secured the position but-”_

_“But_ what _, Severus?” the half-monster spat._

_Severus flinched, “I- I have not been permitted to attend any Order meetings. Dumbledore refuses-”_

_“You have failed once again, Severus.”_

_“No, My Lord - I mean, yes, My Lord, but-”_

_“Silence!” he roared, “I did not place you there for your stomach to be satiated with feasts; nor for your loins to be satisfied by passably attractive 7th-years. I placed you there-” Voldemort kicked Severus violently across the face, “to get information from that meddling old fool!”_

_Severus caught himself from shattering his skull against the stone floor, but wisely did not move away. “Yes, My Lord,” he whispered._

_“Speak. Up. Severus.”_

_Hermione heard the smallest sniffle and assumed he had a broken nose. “Yes, My Lord,” Severus repeated with more vigor._

_Voldemort gave a single nod. “Excellent,” he hissed. “Now that you understand your mission…” too-pale fingers wrapped around a wand. “We must reinforce that reminder, mustn’t we?”_

_“Yes, My Lord.”_

_“Crucio!”_

Hermione nearly jumped out of the pensieve, her own breathing now laboured with concern. She rushed to the kitchenette and flicked her wrist to silently pour a cuppa.

“Oh, Severus,” she whispered to the walls. “Tortured by two masters.”

-*-*-

24 June 2000

Hermione awoke to the darkness, her pyjamas drenched with sweat and her mind flooded with the remnants of a nightmare. No. A memory. _Severus’ memory_. She reached for her wand and, after three attempts, finally sent her silver otter off. With her heart beating too fast, Hermione found comfort in the feel of her wand against her fingers, lighting the candles in a single swish of her wand and catching her breath.

As she waited for Neville to make the trek to her rooms, Hermione donned one of Severus’ thin coats and washed the evidence of sweat from her face. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she noticed how bloodshot her eyes had become - was that from lack of sleep? Or just the visions her subconscious played in her mind?

The portrait clicked open and a soft knock echoed across her rooms. Neville whispered her name, worry evident in his tone.

“Be there in a mo’,” she called, though her voice was shaky even to her own ears. Taking a few more breaths, Hermione closed her eyes to center her mind before greeting Neville with a forced smile. “Thanks for coming, Neville.”

“Hey, of course,” he replied, taking her hands in his. When did he become so grown up? Hermione would swear he’d grown since breakfast. “I offer a listening ear. Or a distraction. Which do you prefer?” Neville offered, a small smile gracing his face.

Hermione sighed, hoping she returned the warmth he offered. Considering her options, Hermione decided on conversation. “I want to talk about- about what I’m seeing. Not _too much_ , mind, but-”

Neville nodded, “Sure. Just enough to take the edge off, eh?” He motioned to Hermione’s purple couch and the friends sat in front of the fire.

As the hours passed and Hermione’s voice grew hoarse, Neville was attentive and understanding. Though she didn’t feel comfortable disclosing too much of Severus’ private life, she was able to maneuver her emotions from what she had seen and learned in the memories. With each acknowledgment of the deeds their former professor may or may not have performed, the two Apprentices were able to distinguish and acknowledge the many facets the lonely man hid away.

When the mantel clock chimed 5 a.m. and Neville wiped the fatigue from his eyes, Hermione placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you so much for listening to me. I’m sorry to have woken you. And I’m even sorrier I kept you up this late.”

“It’s no problem, Hermione-”

“No, please. You don’t understand.” Her voice tapered, having lost all of her previous zest. “I’m incredibly lonely without Harry. And - and Ron.”

Neville gave her a sad smile, “I know. I’m lonely, too. Everyone’s been really great about us joining the staff but-” he sighed, “It’s hard to become friends with your old professors.” A chuckle escaped him, “And I do mean _old_ professors.”

The pair laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly, though due to humor or exhaustion, they would never know.

After regaining their calm, they stood and walked to her portrait. “Thank you again, Neville. Really.” 

“You’re welcome, Hermione. But hey, if you ask me?”

“Hm?”

He gave her a knowing look. “I’d say you’re falling for him.”

Hermione scoffed and pushed him out of the door jamb, “You can’t fall for a dead man, Neville.”

Catching himself from a stumble, Neville cocked an eyebrow at her. “You sure about that?” He shoved his hands in his robe pockets and shrugged. “You seem pretty far gone to me.”

Hermione watched his retreating form through the corridor before returning to bed herself. She pondered his words with furrowed brows. “That’s just ridiculous,” she whispered. “That would be- _oof_ , Crooks.”

The orange half-kneazle stood on her stomach and began kneading her large intestine. “ _Mrow_.”

“Not you, too?” Hermione insisted. Crookshanks offered only a headbutt in response. 


End file.
